


adieu à toi

by MannaTea



Series: Rewritten, Reborn, Revived [13]
Category: Versailles no Bara | Rose of Versailles
Genre: Afterlife, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MannaTea/pseuds/MannaTea
Summary: The thoughts of various characters concerning Oscar on/around/after July 14th, 1789.
Relationships: André Grandier/Oscar François de Jarjayes
Series: Rewritten, Reborn, Revived [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/653711
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	adieu à toi

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on August 31, 2008, and completed on December 13, 2008. There are 11 chapters. The title has changed from "Bye, Bye Beautiful" to "adieu à toi" because the original title really had no personal meaning to me and upon reflection just feels...weird.
> 
> Regarding the title: I think it should be said that “adieu” and “au revoir” are two different phrases with different connotations in French. _Au revoir_ is the sort of goodbye you say with the understanding that you’ll see one another again soon. _Adieu_ , on the other hand, means “unto God.” It tends to be translated as “farewell” and has a sense of finality about it. This is why Oscar says _adieu_ before/at her death, and not _au revoir_. Further notes can be found [here](https://mannatea.tumblr.com/post/623631867080523776/adieu-%C3%A0-toi-a-rose-of-versailles-fanfic-words). 
> 
> Happy Bastille Day 2020. I hope you all enjoy this rewrite. :)

André’s hand was the same as it always had been: warm and solid and good. She took it in hers and felt her chest rattle.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She couldn’t begin to imagine a situation where she wouldn’t be, where she would choose to do anything but go with him. “Yes,” she said, and held on tight.

Her body grew still against the stones it rested on, and she felt a soft and fluttering twinge: she was free.

There was a rushing wind, and the darkness that had claimed her gave way to a bright and glorious light.

He was still holding her hand. Her André. She drank in the sight of him: his warm brown eyes, his lovely dark hair, his smile… She threw her arms around him and wept.

He held her tight and kissed her face and whispered a soft, “Welcome home,” against her hair.

The sky was blue, the grass green, and light was everywhere.

“This is my heaven,” he said, and showed her around. There was the oak tree they’d put their names on, the river they’d nearly drowned in but had overcome, their horses, a dog they’d doted on as children, and finally, on the veranda outside a sweet little cottage home on the outskirts of it all, was Nanny.

“Oh!” they both said, and embraced. They took tea together as dusk turned to dawn.

André took her to meet his parents, and they smiled and shared a look that made Oscar blush. They napped beneath apple trees because they could, and ate and ate and never got full. Water tasted better than any wine. She kissed him and he kissed her, and no matter how long it went on, there was no aching in her chest, no pressure, no pain.

One morning, her men appeared on the horizon of the heaven she shared with André. Their leisurely stroll changed to a desperate run when they looked up to see the two of them standing there, the rising sun framing their silhouettes. They shouted joyously at one another.

“André! André! Your eyes!”

“Yes!” he returned. “I can see every last one of you idiots!”

And he embraced every one of them alongside her.

Joy bubbled up from deep within her.

Nearly everything she could have ever wanted was right here with her; she’d never known such happiness.

She loved resting in his arms, touching his hair and face just to do it, just to experience it all over again. The sound of his voice as they sat together and talked was like music, a peaceful river, gentle on her mind.

They never tired of one another’s company. One lifetime hadn’t been nearly enough; she was grateful for eternity, for the chance to do it all over again, but knowing more, knowing _better_. He smiled so often, here; she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.

She saw little Louis-Joseph, once, playing with other children, happy and carefree. She watched them with André, her head against his shoulder, and let herself wonder at the way of things.

The things that troubled her during life no longer seemed important. There was no fear of consumption or blindness in this place. Her mind wasn’t preoccupied with the monarchy or the Revolution.

She saw her friends and family who had gone on before her; she laughed and smiled and only cried when her happiness spilled over into tears.

She loved. She cherished.

She _lived_.

And she waited with André for the others—perhaps for a moment, perhaps for a lifetime.


End file.
